


The Half Hearted Killer

by killyourfeelings



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221b, Baker Street, Crime, Fluff, John - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Sherlock - Freeform, holmes - Freeform, watson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9823157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killyourfeelings/pseuds/killyourfeelings
Summary: "If you were trapped on a deserted Island with Scotland Yard, which three staff members would you kill?"cute one shot thing where they solve a casei handed this in for an assignment so jokes on them this fanfiction might be sending me to university (update i got an excellence which is america's form of an A+)





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- If you notice any grammatical or spelling errors, do comment! I only want to improve my writing skills... :)

A howling wind was repetitively hitting a loose branch against the cracked window; smears of blood draped across the walls like tapestry. They had been called in just under an hour ago; the world famous duo. The sociopath and his blogger; Watson and Holmes. Detective Inspector Lestrade had found another one; that being another corpse to be added to the ongoing case; The half hearted killer.

This wasn't the first time John had seen the detective like this; bent over a body on the floor, analysing the same deep cuts down the torso of the corpse;brown and purulent from infection, and the heart missing, leaving an indent in the aging body. This case had been going on for exactly three months and two days. Sherlock was still no closer to an answer, and the detective was growing frustrated as the case went on, his leads growing thinner, witnesses were nonexistent, and the body count was rising by the week. There were six dead, and the great Consulting Detective; William Sherlock Scott Holmes, had no idea how to solve the case.

It wasn't until November that another corpse showed up; a month since the last. Sherlock was determined that he was going to find a lead on this one. "The game is near to a close Watson!" he had yelled, as they briskly left the taxi. 

"I don't understand, Holmes. You have no leads, what could you have possibly been able to link the murders to?" John replied with confusion, this wouldn't be the first time Sherlock had expected him to understand what was going on before it had happened. "I wish to know I am correct before exciting you John. It would be a dreadful shame for me to see your excitement, only to see it go to waste," the detective stammered, unsure of whether such a thing was appropriate to say to his friend. "Must be a good one then," John chuckled, uneasy at the detective's statement.

As they entered the junkyard, John had a realisation. "Sherlock?", "Yes John?", "Have you noticed that at each crime scene, the blood smeared across the walls, floor, and windows, they're all in the same shape?" Watson asked, unsure of his accusation. The taller man gasped, "John that's it! I was too busy looking at the bodies to notice the smears of blood! JOHN, THIS IS GREAT!" The detective grabbed John by the shoulders violently, slightly jumping with excitement. This was the first time John had seen Sherlock so excited about a lead since the Scandal in Belgravia. That was when the unexpected happened, two arms wrapped around John like pool noodles, pulling him closer to the blue scarf which adorned the detective's chest. They remained intertwined for almost a minute, John's embarrassment increased as each millisecond ticked by. Scotland Yard were now aware of their presence, Donovan and Anderson were staring at the peculiarity from afar, just as confused and shocked as John himself. Lestrade however, wasn't seemingly shocked at all, in fact his face was a smirk, as though he had caught the killer in the act, or been given the order to fire Anderson.

After what felt like a century, the detective released his firm grip on the blogger, diverting any awkward eye contact, they paced towards the broken down bus that contained the new corpse. "This one was found at 2:30am this morning by the local rubbish collectors, we arrived at around 2:45, no one's been in yet, I knew you'd want the scene to be fresh when you arrived." Lestrade yelled over the car press as he paced alongside with the two men. "Much appreciated Gerard." The detective replied, Sherlock was glad that Scotland yard had figured out the problem with their on-scene units, and decided to just let him take over, whilst the inspectors wrote down notes; from the various murmurs under Sherlock's breath as he examined the body. 

"I've got it, I'll be back tomorrow morning Gavin. John we're done here; coffee?" 

This time John took a moment to examine the body himself, this particular case had his attention, and he'd like a crack at the answer himself. 

This corpse had been cut open the same as the last, but John already knew that. They appeared to be a woman, around 24, with mid-length wavy auburn locks, maggots infested over her body like a spaghetti cardigan, wriggling and squirming, an off white yellow sea. From what John could see, her outfit had been a trendy striped shirt, with a pair of cut-off dungarees and white converse, like one of those teenagers Sherlock would block on his blog. There were no visible injuries, cuts, or bruises on the body, but the forensic scientists would be arriving soon, so they would give him a report on those this evening. 

"Coffee would be great Sherlock."

Speedy's was the only place in the world apart from the flat where the two could comfortably talk about their lives and problems without any interruptions. Mycroft had set up the place for the two to escape from Scotland Yard and any fans. Mrs Hudson was dating Chris Georgiou; the owner of the small cafe, so he was happy to comply. 

Just before they walked in the door, they were stopped by an old woman, around 70. "Would you be interested in  a fortune dear?"she croaked. "My friend and I were just about to grab a coffee, maybe another time?" John chuckled, he wasn't used to being approached by hagglers.

Suddenly, he felt a pulling at his pocket, John looked down in confusion, to find his wallet was not there; in fact it was in the dirt washed hand of the woman.

"I would like my wallet back please" John told the old woman, uncertain of how to respond to this situation.

When the old woman wasn't paying attention, Sherlock quickly slid the wallet from her lowered hand and placed it in his coat pocket and swapped it with Detective Inspector Lestrade's police badge. Merely minutes later, the old woman threw what she thought to be the wallet behind her; diverting attention to a young jogger, who caught it and sprinted off.

John ran until he had the younger man cornered in an alleyway. It was dark and musty, the smell of dead rats pungent through the small openings in the brick wall. Suddenly a loud banging noise filled the small alleyway, like two pans had been hit together at full velocity. John switched his attention to where the noise had come from, only to look back at the young man who had stolen his wallet. Only the runner had gone; completely vanished into thin air. 

"John?" 

Sherlock had run after the blogger in the mad chase, and had quite frankly; found it hilarious. 

"John, surely you wouldn't care that someone stole Lestrade's badge; would you?" Sherlock chuckled, reaching into his coat pocket and handing the smaller man his wallet. 

"I assumed you would have noticed my pick pocketing by now?" Sherlock questioned.

"I'm just used to a better class of criminal!" John yelled, aware that the attempted thief could still be in earshot.  

"I believe we should begin discussing possible witnesses and our new clues." Sherlock remarked, slightly taken aback by John's sudden sassiness. 

"Right; yes," John was still out of breath from the running, so they decided to walk back to Speedy's.

"What made you want to join the army?" Sherlock asked; he was never good a small talk, and knew that John had wanted to help people who were less fortunate, and had been in battle for years; once he had became a doctor at St Bartholomew's hospital.  

"You already know that answer Sherlock," John chuckled, "Ask me something you don't know."

"If you were trapped on a deserted Island with Scotland Yard, which three staff members would you kill?" Sherlock asked; genuinely wondering how one could only choose three.

John laughed, he definitely wasn't expecting this level of small talk from his flatmate, so he decided to play along whilst the detective's good mood lasted. 

"Donovan, Anderson, and... oh I know! That awful receptionist who keeps flirting with me while you're talking to Lestrade! That way I can drink my coffee in peace"

"John how are you going to make coffee on the deserted Island?" The detective remarked, silently agreeing about who deserved to die.

"I don't know Sherlock; 'It'll just appear' like your tea does in the morning won't it?" John had overheard Mrs Hudson and his flatmate's discussion earlier this week on how Sherlock's tea arrived on the side table.

"Shut up John, such notions take up too much space in my mind, for example the solar system; unimportant, as is how my tea appears in the morning." Sherlock stated, he was too tired to argue what planet rotates around what with John; they had a case to close.

Speedy's was often the home to The Homeless Network Sherlock often called upon favours for, he relayed them with shelter, food, and bathroom facilities when he could with the help of Mycroft and the staff at Speedy's cafe. John hadn't known of this network until earlier on that year, so the blogger had been extremely confused when a homeless woman had given him a ringing phone and exclaimed "You have a call from Sherlock!" as he was walking to the supermarket to grab that weeks cleaning supplies for his flatmates "lab". Such supplies included; three 500mL bottles of bleach, four new sponges, and another pair of safety goggles.

As they sat down in one of the booths, their usual waitress served them some water before proceeding to pour John a coffee and move back to behind the counter.

"We have three leads now; the mysterious and repeated shape the blood streaks are linked to, the ritual of cutting down the middle of the body before cutting out the heart, and my discovery." Sherlock said, forgetting he was yet to tell John his discovery.

"And your discovery would be?" John asked; anxious for more leads. 

"Seven dead, and they all have one thing in common John." 

"And that would be...?" John asked. 

"Use your mind John, these people all had one thing in common, I know you have a greater brain capacity than you show; use it" Sherlock muttered; he was starting to grow impatient with John.

John relapsed through his memories;searching through the past to find one thing that all of the corpses had in common.

"None of them were fresh" John stuttered, only now realising what this could mean.

"Sherlock, are we dealing with grave-robbers?" the blogger asked;finally understanding  
why the corpses had been so old.

"John I believe that we are dealing with resurrection men; a butcher or doctor, maybe even a scientist, possibly one with a steady hand; dissecting the bodies, removing the heart, and selling them in the black market for as little as £425,000 to researchers and anatomic scientists alike. John, this discovery has brought down the suspect list from three to one, now we must organize to meet them by morning." Sherlock removed his hands from his face, where he would rest his fingertips against the tip of his nose as he spoke; thumbs resting against his chin.

Quickly downing his coffee, John prepared himself to leave.

"I'll research him in the car, I'll need a name and appearance" the smaller man stated; John had become the two's researcher on the go, as Mycroft had given him an unlimited data plan.

"Davy Clifton Eason, 34, caucasian, black hair, brown eyes." Sherlock stated, not sure how much information John needed in order to find the man they wanted on the internet. "I've asked Scotland Yard to surround the building when we arrive, I don't want him to escape." The detective added.

John had found Dr Eason's workplace through google in a matter of seconds, after finding his facebook, they headed over to St Thomas' Hospital, just in time for Davy Eason's break.

For a doctor, John hated being in hospitals, they reminded him of the blood and tears in Afghanistan, the stark walls used to be something he cherished; no they reminded him of the surreal dreams he had before he meet Sherlock. The ones where he would walk towards a bright light, and keep walking, until his walk turned into a run, until his run turned into darkness, and he would wake up; drenched in sweat and tears. 

There was a lady at the reception, she had soft brown eyes and ginger hair; the facial structure of a mouse, Sherlock thought. 

"How can I help you boys? The adoption centre is just around the corner." the mouse lady said.

"Oh, no thank you; where could we find a Doctor David Clifton Eason?" John asked, unable to control his blushing face. Every once in awhile, Sherlock and himself would be mistaken as a couple; John had learnt to accept it.

"That would be down the corridor on your left," mouse lady said, pointing past the sitting room, towards what looked like office areas.

"Thank you" John replied, no longer wanting to converse with her.

"You two make a lovely couple," Dr Eason chuckled, imitating the lady at reception. "If I had known better I would run, but according to these security tapes I'm surrounded, so we'll see how things play out why don't we" The Doctor had a slight charm to him, as though Moriarty had a child with Spock, this man had the intelligence and confidence of Spock, and the humor and temperament of Moriarty. This man made John feel like dirt.

"Who's been buying the hearts Eason" Sherlock questioned, knowing that Eason knew what was coming for him. 

"Anonymous sources, probably scientists, as long as they're paying I couldn't care less Sherlock." The doctor spat. 

The way Eason had said Sherlock's name made John feel sick to the stomach, as though it was his own name ruined by the awful man.

"Maybe useless ex-army doctors trying to do something memorable, maybe those who are buying are just as stupid as your very ow..." Eason began, before he was quickly interrupted by an overprotective detective.  

"You're surrounded Eason, this one time I don't care about the answer, either hand your self in, or let Scotland Yard take you, but either way I want you to rethink what you were about to say, and understand this. John Watson is the smartest man I know, not only does he manage to keep up with me when I'm in my mind palace, he somehow manages to find spare time between our cases; to publish to the world every single case we have ever been a part of. Not only does this man cope with living with me, he; by some miracle; enjoys my company. John Hamish Watson is a far better man than you will ever be, and don't you bloody forget it.

The cramped office space suddenly filled with officers, Lestrade and Donovan cuffing David Eason with the biggest grins on their faces.

"Good Job boys" Lestrade told the detective and the blogger.

Sherlock turned to John; still aware of how he had let his feelings take over his mind. He was supposed to repress all love and replace it with facts. The sociopath had a reputation to keep up, and John didn't feel the same way. 

After three years of living with Sherlock, John had picked up on some deduction techniques himself. These had mostly been for when to make a move on a date, but John found himself noticing a few mannerisms on Sherlock too. The dilated pupils, increased heart rate, and his sweaty palms glistened under the lights.

The officers had all left the room to head to the pub for celebratory pints. So John built up all of his courage and decided to do it.

Slowly, John leant in; taking a step closer to the taller man, he went up on his tiptoes and kissed the detective, and for a second, John could have sworn Sherlock kissed him back.


End file.
